


Carving Out a Place For Us

by zombiekittiez



Series: Trick or Sheith 2020 [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: College AU, Fluff, Getting Together, Growth, Halloween, M/M, Post Series AU, Pumpkin carving, Season 8 who, Starting Over, TrickOrSheith, oh god they were roommates, self improvement, you know what that's called
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27209122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiekittiez/pseuds/zombiekittiez
Summary: “What are you doing?” Shiro asks cautiously.Keith, huffs a little. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”“It looks like you’re murdering a helpless gourd. Pumpkin carving?” He asks, as though there could be any other explanation.“Yup.” Keith agrees as though Shiro has said a sage and reasonable thing.~~Trick or Sheith Day 2: Pumpkin Carving
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Trick or Sheith 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033143
Comments: 41
Kudos: 179





	Carving Out a Place For Us

**Author's Note:**

> The first fic I wrote for trick or sheith, aka a Halloween excuse to hook Shiro and Keith up seven days in a row. Monday's fic got buried if you want to check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27102829) for day 1 prompt: Candy.

It was a sunny Monday afternoon when Shiro lost his mind. 

It’s the damnedest thing. There he’d been, in a meeting with Iverson and the latest simpering replacement for Sanda’s vacancy, reviewing training schedules and MFE recruitment logs and he’d just excused himself very politely and left. Left the room, left the base, left the Garrison altogether. It had been a sort of dissociative fugue state; one day he was Admiral Shirogane, respected and responsible leader of Earth’s defenses, and the next he was just Shiro, unemployed community college student moving into a ratty apartment fifty miles away. One does not generally _quit_ a lucrative position in a private military organization without so much as a by-your-leave, but between _pilot error_ , declarations of death, the whole strapping-him-to-a-table-thing and saving the Earth a half dozen times or so, Shiro figured the Garrison could suck it up. 

Surprisingly, they had. They’d called it _early retirement,_ wired a reasonable severance into his account and publicly spoke of him in vaguely positive terms, like a childhood pet long since gone to the farm. 

He didn’t really… tell anyone. Not specifically. Not that it mattered, really. Matt turned up with a twelve pack of beer for a housewarming a few days later, and together they drunkenly assembled the mismatched Ikea furniture into its mostly proper conglomerations. It had gotten easy between them, after the war- easier, maybe, then before, when they were just this side of friendly. 

“I don’t blame you,” Matt says archly three beers in, kicking the newly completed songesand bed frame with disgust. “Thought about it once or twice myself. If anything, I’m just surprised you didn’t fuck off totally. Disappear and turn up eight months later working check out at the Piggly Wiggly two states over under a false name.” 

Shiro grimaces a little at that and Matt laughs, but doesn’t pry. He knows damn well why Shiro didn’t check out completely. It’s the same reason they’ve got another songesand to assemble in Shiro’s spare bedroom. 

“You should go ahead and tell him,” Matt advises, taking the beer bottles to drop at recycling on his way out. Shiro’s still pretty tipsy, so he does. Just shoots off a message like it’s nothing. 

_Quit the Garrison. Taking some classes. Here’s the address._

A week before the semester is set to start, Keith shows up with a duffle and a space wolf. He shifts foot to foot in the doorway like he’s not sure whether to charge in or fuck right off again, so Shiro just opens the door wider. Keith’s face does some complicated things when he sits down at the kitchen table. 

“How long are you staying?” Shiro asks, because he wants to rip the bandaid off. If this is a courtesy call or a weekend thing… that’s fine. Totally fine. 

Keith shrugs, not looking at him. Shiro makes a thoughtful noise and Keith looks up at that, sharp and wary. “What?” he demands. 

Shiro shrugs. “Good thing this place is pet friendly. Did you need help settling in?” 

Keith does not, in fact, need help settling his few meagre possessions into the second bedroom. Nor does he need help signing up for classes; he’s already got a print out of his schedule folded and refolded in his pants pocket dated an hour after he got Shiro’s message. Keith looks at Shiro like he’s daring Shiro to say something about it. Shiro’s not always a brave man; he hands the schedule back without much comment. 

“Interesting picks,” is all he says. 

“Wanted to try something new,” Keith replies with feigned nonchalance. 

“Is it just me, or is space wolf… smaller?” Shiro asks. 

“It’s his new trick. Pidge got really hyped up about it, I dunno. Something about mass density. Anyway, he can adjust his size a bit now. Still eats like ten horses though.” Keith grins affectionately at the wolf who sits between Keith’s legs, at the perfect height for Keith to lean in and scratch behind his ears. 

“Handy, for an apartment.” Shiro comments neutrally. 

“Handy,” Keith echoes. 

“Woof,” Kosmo agrees.

~~

For coursework, Shiro tries out different things, caring less about the track he’s on and more about what interests him in the moment. Ethics and Criminal Justice. Advanced Autobody Non-Structural Repair. Dietetics and Nutrition. Anatomy 101. He’s toying with the idea of of Sport Medicine, maybe focus on physical therapy. Work the softer side of prosthetic adjustment. 

Keith takes Philosophy 101 and every introductory art class on offer, regardless of medium. He also gets a part time job behind the counter at the local campus convenience store. 

“Keith, if you need money-” Shiro begins but Keith waves him off. 

“I’m okay, the Garrison _did_ pay me same as the others, and Krolia has a whole GAC to dollar thing worked out, so the Blades have been paying me too. It’s not the money, it’s...” Keith trails off, brows knitting with the frustration of not being able to explain himself well. 

“Maybe I should get a job too,” Shiro muses. 

“No, no way.” Keith disagrees immediately. “That’s the opposite of what you should do.” 

Shiro doesn’t know how to take that, so he just nods and lets it drop. 

It’s been a good few months so far. Keith doesn’t own much, so there’s no such thing as clutter. He cooks and Shiro does dishes and they both take the trash out whenever it looks close to full. He’s quiet and considerate and always texts Shiro whenever he stops by the store to make sure Shiro doesn’t need anything. Kosmo is practically a third roommate; he eats the same people food they do at meals and is kind enough to teleport the recycling to the bin when Shiro forgets. God only knows what he gets up to all day while they’re at school. 

“Important space wolf business,” Keith guesses and that’s as good a theory as any. 

The thing is, Shiro’s starting to think that whatever possessed him to lose his damn mind in the first place might be contagious. This occurs to him when he walks into their kitchen one afternoon to something rather odd. 

Keith, wearing a cat ear hairband, face set in familiar dogged determination, carves a pumpkin on their jokkmokk table, carefully layered with newspaper. 

“Keith?” Shiro asks, just to be sure. 

Keith tosses his head a little impatiently; the headband is for show, it seems, and offers no real functionality in keeping his artfully messy fringe from his face. He grins at Shiro. 

“Hello,” he says, and then he turns back to the pumpkin. The top of the gourd has been neatly excised; Keith carefully detaches it from the body and sets it aside, trailing viscera and goo across the newspaper tabletop. 

“What are you doing?” Shiro asks cautiously. 

Keith, huffs a little. “What’s it look like I’m doing?” 

“It looks like you’re murdering a helpless gourd.” Shiro points out. “Pumpkin carving?” He asks, as though there could be any other explanation. 

“Yup.” Keith agrees as though Shiro has said a sage and reasonable thing. 

“And the ears?” Shiro prods. 

“Halloween spirit,” Keith says lightly. He swaps out his knife for a small plastic utensil with a rounded end- the rice paddle that came with the rice cooker, Shiro realizes. Keith begins running the paddle along the rounded inside of the pumpkin, elbow deep in sticky mess. 

“I didn’t know you were so… spirited.” Shiro tries. 

Keith hums, then points at a brown paper bag on one of the chairs pushes out to the side with his elbow. “Another one,” he says. “In case I messed up. But you can, if you want.” 

Well then. 

Shiro unwraps the second pumpkin, noting that it has a pleasant shape and feel in his hands- the right heaviness and the skin smooth, stem short and curled just so. “Good pumpkin,” he says approvingly. 

“Thanks,” Keith says, equal parts wry and pleased. “Took me an hour to decide.” 

“At the grocery store?” Shiro asks, surprised. 

“At the farm.” Keith explains. 

Shiro blinks. “You went to a farm to pick pumpkins?” 

“At the pumpkin patch,” Keith agrees. 

“...why?” Shiro puts the pumpkin back on the table. 

“That’s what people do, right?” Keith asks, pausing mid-scrape. 

“People,” Shiro echoes. 

“Normal people,” Keith affirms. 

“Carving pumpkins doesn’t make someone normal,” Shiro argues. “Not carving pumpkins doesn’t make someone abnormal.” 

Keith hums again, but it sounds like a disagreeing kind of hum this time. “I was too small to handle a knife myself, Pop said.” He shrugs. “And after that it was always something. They didn’t want to spend the money on something that was gonna get tossed right away, or maybe it was too babyish.” 

Shiro mulls that over for a moment. Then he reaches for a second knife. He begins cutting the top off the second pumpkin with careful measured strokes. “I haven’t done this for a really long time,” he says. 

Keith brings both hands out of his own pumpkin, dripping with long threads of pumpkin bits and seeds, juice sticky all the way up his arms. He makes a face that makes Shiro bark out a laugh, unexpected but welcome. Keith deposits the pumpkin entrails into a colander, so Shiro does the same. By the time he’s reached the scraping stage, Keith’s pumpkin has been satisfactorily eviscerated and put to the side. Keith takes the colander of pumpkin bits to the sink where he begins sorting through the muck. 

“Pumpkin seeds,” Keith explains at Shiro’s curious look. “I hear they’re good roasted.” Kosmo gives a curious sniff from the sofa where he lounges, looking into their tiny kitchen. 

And because Shiro can’t quite be trusted with a gas burning stove, Keith moves with practiced ease to the oven, preheated neatly to 350 degrees. Shiro watches with interest as Keith lays out the seeds on his baking pan, brushing them with a melted butter mixture colorfully dotted with paprika and black pepper and setting the timer for fifteen and a half minutes.

“There,” Keith says with finality. 

“Where did you learn to roast pumpkin seeds?” Shiro asks. Perhaps it is a silly question; not everyone could have grown up in hospital so far removed from a kitchen that hot homemade food seems more an alien thing than… well. All the actually alien things. 

“Class.” Keith says. It would sound like a dismissal, a brusque end of the conversation cue from anyone else, but Shiro knows Keith from the relaxed curve of his shoulder to the easy way he stands with one hip slightly cocked. He’s answered the question in his own mind, but it’s alright if Shiro wants a little more. 

“Art class?” Shiro clarifies. 

“Cooking class.” Keith says. 

Shiro blinks. “Cooking class? Did you pick up another elective?” 

“Wednesday nights at the community center.” 

Shiro puts his knife down. The sound makes Keith look up. “Wednesday nights? Every Wednesday night?” Shiro’s not sure why he feels so surprised or even vaguely hurt. “I thought you were working.” 

Keith nods, though his eyes flicker uneasily. “No, I only work three shifts a week at the 7-11. Wednesdays and Fridays I do other things. Ah, not this last Wednesday though. It got cancelled so I went to the beer tasting.” 

“Beer tasting,” Shiro echoes. Shiro loves beer. 

“Yeah, it was pretty cool. They had these little cards with all the flavor profiles and you’d taste a beer and try to match it up. I got eight out of ten.” Keith, deciding the moment has passed, turns back to his pumpkin. He uses his thumbs and the width of his palm to measure out the spacing before he cuts. 

“That’s nice,” Shiro says softly. He forgets sometimes that this exists- this gap between them. Shiro is a career switching adult well into his thirties; Keith is still a young man. This is Keith’s first chance, not his fourth or fifth, and he will want to do these kinds of things with people his own age. “What else have you all been doing?” He asks, determined to stow his strangely melancholic feelings for the moment. Plenty of time to think about that later, perhaps treat himself to a sad shower beer of his own. 

Keith hums thoughtfully. “Went to a pub quiz. Didn’t do well- too many movie questions. Had some really good buffalo wings though. And the local theater had one of those Shakespeare in the park things a couple weeks back, but it started raining halfway.” 

“I’m proud of you.” Shiro says sincerely. 

Keith ducks his head, pink with pleasure. “Thanks, Shiro.” 

Shiro looks at his pumpkin. Simple, he thinks. Jagged teeth, triangle nose, eyes like commas, squinting up with good humor. He traces out the shapes lightly with the knife tip, checking their placement for the face as a whole for evenness before committing to the deeper cut. 

“That’s smart,” Keith says, and when Shiro looks up, he’s watching intently. Keith grins. “I should have known you’d be good at this too.” 

The timer goes off and Keith puts his pumpkin aside, grabbing the oven mitts and pulling out the pumpkin seeds. He shakes the pan thoughtfully and then puts them back in for two minutes more. He’s gotten so expert at that kind of thing, knowledgeable enough to follow a recipe or the outline of one to something not only edible but enjoyable. 

Cooking class. A thought strikes Shiro. 

“If you wanted them over, you know that you can.” Shiro says, carefully cutting at angles for the jack o'lantern’s crooked smile. “Anytime, really.” 

“Huh?” Keith asks, surprised, and that hurts Shiro maybe a little too. Did Keith never even consider it? Shiro must seem so plodding and reclusive, sitting at home like a badger in his hole. 

“Your friends. If you wanted to cook something here or just have a movie night. I can find something to do, keep out of your hair for a night or so.” 

“Why would my friends want you to go somewhere?” Keith asks, brow creasing in concern. “Lance and Allura are coming back from New Altea next month, but you already knew that. And Pidge and Hunk will be around for the holidays.” 

“I don’t mean our friends,” Shiro says patiently. “Your friends. The ones you’re going to all the events with.” 

Keith’s face scrunches up even further. “I don’t go with anybody though?” 

“You’re going by yourself?” Shiro asks.

“Well, yeah. Am I not supposed to?” The timer beeps and Keith cuts off the oven, pulling the pumpkin seeds and leaving them to cool on the stovetop. 

“No, no. There’s nothing wrong with branching out and trying new things to expand your interests,” Shiro assures him. “I’m sure you get to meet all kinds of new people your age at these things.” It makes Shiro feel about seventy to say that, but Keith’s used to his bullshit by now so it doesn’t even merit an eyeroll. 

“I don’t really talk to anybody though? I learn a thing and go home.”

“Are you having fun?” Shiro asks, thoroughly confused at this point. 

“Fun?” Keith considers. “I guess? Sometimes.” 

Shiro puts his pumpkin down. “Explain,” he requests. 

Keith shrugs. “What’s to explain? It’s like the whole-” here Keith gestures broadly, “ _experience_ or whatever. Try something new, get out of your comfort zone, power of positive thinking… thing. Normal people lessons.” He thwacks the flat edge of the knife against the pumpkin for emphasis. 

Shiro is not sure how to respond at first. Keith looks a little triumphant, like he’s pulled off a tricky maneuver on a hoverbike or a robot lion. Maybe for Keith he has. 

“Normal people tend to use events to… facilitate social interaction,” Shiro explains slowly. “Not to say everyone does- it’s fine to branch out into something interesting without it, but it’s a major component that these things are usually arranged around. If you’re wanting to get the most out of them, you should probably go with someone, or be willing to make friends on the spot there.” 

Keith makes a face. “I guess I can ask someone from class.” He says grudgingly, like he’s doing Shiro a favor. “The next one’s a First Friday Fall Street Fair. There’s supposed to be some open galleries with free wine and cheese.” 

Shiro _loves_ free wine and cheese. 

“If…” Shiro starts to say but then ducks down, picking up his pumpkin. He’s being stupid and selfish. If Keith wanted to take him, he would ask. Simple as that. 

“If what?” Keith asks suspiciously. Shiro shakes his head. Keith just waits. 

“If you didn’t want to ask anyone you don’t know, would you want to go with me?” Shiro asks, voice dropping in volume until the last word is barely audible. He feels clumsy and like he’s taking up too much space- in their tiny kitchen, in Keith’s tiny life. 

“You’d want to go?” Keith asks, voice bright with surprise. 

“I guess that’s unexpected,” Shiro says with a little laugh he doesn’t mean. “I’m older and- boring, maybe. I sit at home mostly, between gym and class, and I’m not even trying to put myself out there-” 

“Shiro.” Keith interrupts. He’s cradling his pumpkin now, eyes huge. “What are you _talking_ about?” 

Shiro falters. Shrugs. Looks at the pumpkin instead of Keith. 

“You know what I thought when I got that message?” Keith asks, stepping closer. “I thought: wow, that’s amazing. You’re done with this… half-life the war left us with. You’re ready to be a person again. And I wanted that too. I never knew how to say it, probably would have been okay planet hopping and going through the motions forever, but you getting out… it made me think there was a way out for me too. I never made cupcakes or watched a play or carved a goddamn pumpkin before. I’ve never been anything but an angry lonely kid who flunked out of flight school. I’m… catching up.” Keith’s voice goes shy. “I’m catching up to you.” 

“Me?” Shiro asks, incredulous. Maybe once he’d been worth looking up to, Garrison flyboy and Black Paladin, but now he’s a stodgy shut in. His white hair and prosthetic arm, though more demure than the Altean floating version, draws stares and unwelcome attention from his classmates and professors alike, so he keeps his head down and his smile polite till he can get to home and to Keith. 

Those might be the same things, now. 

“You’re resting, Shiro. When was the last time anybody gave you a break? You had to grind at the Garrison and then there was- everything, and then you were Admiral and rebuilding and… I thought you needed the down time. You’ve already done all this stuff, right? With Matt and Adam and your friends at the Garrison. Why the hell would you want to bother doing it again just because I want to?” Keith asks, shrugging. Because he really believes that. 

He’s lucky that he’s holding the pumpkin because otherwise Shiro would be dangerously close to sweeping Keith up into a hug- a deeply unplatonic hug, the kind where he could cradle the back of Keith’s neck and pet softly at his hair and smooth a kiss into his forehead. He’d whisper all his tangled up feelings for Keith in a way that was heartfelt and smooth, a way that would leave Keith breathless and willing to consider, if only for a moment of madness, a world where tired sad-eyed boring Shiro might be worth more than brotherly affection. 

Instead, Shiro says “I love cheese.” 

Keith smiles. “I know,” he says. 

“And wine. And beer. And even if they tossed me on my ass after burning the kitchen down day one, I’d still want to go to cooking class with you. Keith, I want to do everything with you. I’m proud of you for branching out and trying new things. I don’t ever want to hold you back. But if you wanted, if you’d let me, I want to be a part of that too. It sounds like so much fun, and even if it was boring or silly it could never be a waste of time because it’s time I get to spend with _you._ ” 

By now Keith’s smile has slipped the way it always does when Shiro is a little too raw and open about how he sees Keith. He should quit while he’s ahead, before he says too much and Keith’s eyes shutter closed and distant when he knows exactly how much Shiro cares for him- and how. But he can’t. Shiro can’t go another moment without letting Keith know that he’s welcome- always welcome, to all of Shiro’s time, in every possible way. 

“You’re probably right that I needed the break. But I never need a break from you, Keith. _I want to be with you._ ” Shiro says helplessly. 

Shiro sees the exact moment that his words click into place, where even Keith with his standoffish self deprecating outlook can’t fail to see what Shiro is confessing, what Shiro means. 

Keith’s eyes go wide and he drops the pumpkin. 

“Shit-” Shiro reaches out belatedly as it smashes to the ground, pieces of pumpkin splattering Shiro’s shins to his knees even from a few feet away. Poor Keith is worse for wear, pumpkin bits spraying him from head to feet. Shiro tries to dust Keith off, rubbing down Keith’s arms where they’re frozen at his sides to get the goop off, scraping the excess on Shiro’s own jeans. 

“Oh baby, it’s everywhere-” his hand comes up to Keith’s cheek, his thumb sweeping along a stringy bit clinging there when Keith clicks back to life, surging up and pressing their mouths together in a clumsy fall-flavored kiss. 

After a momentary shock, Shiro leans into it, uncaring of the pumpkin carnage around them until his hands, finally given permission to tangle in that soft hair, leave a slimy pumpkiny trail in their wake. Keith leans back and Shiro should apologize but the cat ears knocked slightly askew in a way that is so adorable that Shiro can’t help a little sigh of contentment at the sight. 

“I love you,” Keith says quickly. “I want to be with you too.” 

“Oh,” Shiro says, overwhelmed. He straightens Keith’s cat ears even as it pushes the pumpkin muck even further along his temple. Keith grimaces. 

“I don’t love this, though.” Keith admits.

“The evidence of your crime,” Shiro agrees. “Lucky for you true love means helping you bury any bodies.” 

Keith snorts despite himself as he kneels and begins scooping the pumpkin refuse together in a pile. His clothes are a wash anyway. Shiro gets out a trash bag, spray cleaner, and a new roll of paper towels. Keith freezes a little looking up at Shiro. 

“Okay?” Shiro asks worriedly. 

“So okay.” Keith shakes his head. “You _love_ me.” He says, as though it is a marvel of nature. 

“Not always like- this, but for a while now.” Shiro admits. Keith, sensing that Shiro wants to talk but is too shy to be looked at, continues cleaning the floor while Shiro tidies the countertop. His jack o'lantern grins sloppily from the clean table top; at least there was one survivor. 

“I didn’t know you would come, when you heard. But I hoped. I got a two bedroom place, hoping you’d hear and that you’d drop your whole life and come with me. I didn’t even ask- you had to be brave for us both. You’re learning to be normal and adjusted but I should tell you that even though I was once, more or less, I might… I might not ever really be that way again. I can’t do fireworks or the smell of iodine or a dozen other tiny silly things. This might always haunt me in some way and you’ve always been so free. I would hate to chain you down.” 

Keith rises thoughtfully, floor shining and pumpkin free. “True, I did have to come down on my own. I worried that you wouldn’t want me here, that even if I found my own place close by you’d think I was being clingy and childish. I had to take the chance, just like you took the chance, telling me how you feel first. Even though I’ve loved you forever.” Keith smiles, unbearably sweet. “We can take turns being brave.” 

Shiro leans in for a quick pumpkin scented kiss. He can’t help it, now that he’s allowed, and it’s worth the squelch-stickiness when Keith beams. 

“Shower,” Shiro says firmly. 

“Right,” Keith agrees. “You going first?” 

Shiro snorts, eyeing Keith’s miserable sodden form. “Not a chance.” 

Brave, right? 

“Best to save water,” Shiro offers, faux nonchalance. “If we showered together.” 

Keith draws a ragged breath. “Environmentally conscious,” he chokes out. “That’s me.” 

And Shiro pulls Keith into the bathroom, closing the door behind them.


End file.
